Family
by Juxtaposie
Summary: Revised as of 02.27.07, with new chapter soon to come. The coronation is overshadowed by the birth of Sabriel and Touchstone's first child.
1. Family

**Family**

_The coronation is overshadowed by the birth of Touchstone and Sabriel's first child_.

* * *

It's time I was going to sleep:

I'm up too late tonight.

I've watched all the stars

Growing pale in the early dawn light.

So I'll make one last wish:

That you'll grow up and no have to fight.

Then I'll cover you up,

Here's a kiss.

I love you.

Goodnight.

* * *

Touchstone had long thought that an inn was no place to deliver a baby. Sabriel agreed whole-heartedly, and would much rather have been at the House, but they'd already returned to the city by the time she'd discovered her state, and she'd been so busy cleansing the city that by the time she'd thought to make any arrangements it would have been nigh impossible – and ill-advised – the turn back from the fast-moving path life had laid out for her and Touchstone. The inn would just have to do. The Palace was still a mass of slow-moving construction, and was completely unfit to house peasants, let alone those of royal blood. And although it really was a very nice inn, which they had effectively turned into their home in the many weeks they'd been in Belisaere, there was still an element of unfamiliarity in the deep wood paneling of the bedroom that made it harder and harder for Sabriel to relax as time wore on. Her worry had grown with the babe in her belly, and, somewhat belatedly, she realized that the feeling wriggling around inside of her was dangerously close to fear. As the days streamed past, more and more often she remembered just how young she was, and she thought continuously of how small her baby would be, and how big and dangerous was the world into which it would be born.

All these things coupled with the impending coronation – a lengthy ceremony taking place at dawn the coming day - had worked Sabriel into tears. She was all the more disheartened because she was by herself, which had been happening more and more often of late. Touchstone's affinity for ordering others about had been a fairly recent discovery, and he seemed to want to get as much practice in as possible before taking on the full weight of the crown. As such, he hadn't delegated as many tasks as he otherwise might have, and Sabriel had spent an increasing amount of time on her own, or in the company of her newly acquired handmaiden – who, thus far, had proven to be a poor conversationalist. Most days she was left to wallow in her self-made pit of misery and depression.

When Touchstone returned to their room late that evening, it was to find Sabriel laying on her back in their bed, in her nightdress but on top of the coverlet, staring blankly at the ceiling with red-rimmed eyes. She didn't look at him as he unbelted the swords at his waist and slung them carefully across the back of a nearby chair only to pile his russet-colored coat on top of them. She said nothing as he sat down the bed and bent to unlace his boots, kicking them off in a huff. It wasn't until he had stretched out beside her and laid a hand on her much-swollen belly that she finally spoke.

"I can't do this," she said softly, listlessly. "It's too much. I'm too young, and too scared, and," her breath hitched as she continued, "and how can I possibly be the Abhorsen, _and_ a wife, _and_ a queen, _and_ a mother? It's enough work for ten people, and I am only _one_ woman!"

Sabriel jumped slightly as, in the ensuing silence, the baby kicked against Touchstone's open palm, and he smiled despite her bleak words.

"You will do just fine," Touchstone said gently, reaching across her shoulders to pull her closer. Then he took her right hand in his left, laced their fingers together, and laid them on her stomach. "You will be the Abhorsen, and a wife, and a queen, and the mother of our children, just as I will be a husband and a king and a father."

"And how will you do that?" Sabriel asked still staring at the ceiling.

"With you there to help me," he answered solemnly.

Turning her head, Sabriel met his eyes for the first time since he had laid down beside her.

Then she kissed his stubbly chin, because it was all she could reach without moving, and said, "You do realize that helping me means getting up at two in the morning to change dirty nappies and rock a crying baby to sleep, don't you?"

He laughed, a deep, hearty sound, and bent to kiss her mouth. "I'm looking forward to it, my dear."

"Then you won't mind helping me dress and coming out for a walk with me," she said, struggling into a sitting position. Mood swings were something she'd be glad to be rid of.

"You're supposed to stay in bed," Touchstone reminded her, but he helped her to sit up all the same.

"I've been in bed all day," Sabriel huffed, "and in this room for almost three!" she continued tartly. "I'm quite sick of staring at these walls! A little fresh air can't be bad, and a slow walk around the courtyard will help me escape the feeling of being so fat I won't ever fit into my bandolier again. How is it outside?"

"Perfect," Touchstone answered, rising from the bed and moving toward the single wardrobe situated in the far corner from the bed. He vanished behind the door, reappearing a few moments later with a blue dressing gown and a suitable pair of slippers.

Sabriel stretched as well as she could – which was not very well at all – and swung her legs around to plant her feet on the floor. She reached for the brush on her bedside table and began to work the tangles out of her hair, smiling sweetly at her husband, who was waiting patiently for her to be through. She took her time, thoroughly enjoying the sight of Touchstone's shifting feet.

"Are you nervous?" she asked suddenly. "About tomorrow?"

"Yes," he answered truthfully. "And you should be too. I'm not the only one getting a crown tomorrow."

"I've had more pressing matters on my mind," Sabriel countered quietly, rubbing her belly absent-mindedly.

"We can postpone the ceremony, if you wish," Touchstone suggested as he placed the dressing gown on the bed and knelt to pull the slippers onto her feet. "Another week won't make a difference."

"What, and disappoint the whole city?" Sabriel said with a small laugh. "I think not, my Lord."

She pulled on the dressing gown, and buttoned and belted it while Touchstone tried again to talk her out of the ceremony with much the same reaction. By the time she climbed to her feet, she was wondering if he wasn't trying to talk himself out of it. When she said as much all he did was wrap an arm around her waist and lead her out of the room with a deep sigh.

The fading light of the sunset, the fresh air of the courtyard, and her husband's comforting touch were enough to ease Sabriel's tensions about the coming day. The ceremony would go smoothly, breakfast would be a breeze, and then she would come back and rest. All would go well, and everything would be fine. At least, she hoped so.

* * *

Sabriel slept well that night, and had awoken a few hours before sunrise with little of the weariness and fatigue that had plagued her on many pervious mornings. Touchstone had woken an hour earlier, and was probably down in the common room at that very moment, handing out last-minute orders. It still amazed Sabriel how well he had taken to all this business that came with being king.

Her newly designated handmaid – a sweet but terribly naïve young woman named Seranel - helped her dress and do up her hair. The empire-waisted gown of dark blue satin cascaded down her back and over her belly like a waterfall of fabric. Thick bands of black velvet traced the dress's hem and neckline, upon which silver keys had been embroidered. The full sleeves were heavier than Sabriel remembered, and the dress was a tad too confining, but it was more or less comfortable, and the reflection looking back at her in the mirror was a woman of cool serenity and queenly demeanor.

All the guards and servants they'd managed to acquire thus far had gathered in the large common room on the inn's first floor, busy double-checking their orders and making last minute preparations. Touchstone stood amidst the ordered chaos, resplendent in gold-plated chain mail and crimson velvet. He turned with the rest of the small crowd as Seranel announced Sabriel's entrance in her high, lilting voice. Sabriel, still unused to the attention, fought the urge to roll her eyes but was unable to quell the blush in her cheeks. The servants and guards parted, all with a bow or a curtsy, as Touchstone made his way to Sabriel's side and took her hand.

"Everything is in order," he said to her as he led her to the door. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she answered softly, taking a deep breath. Then she smiled up at him. "Are you?"

"Always."

* * *

Sixteen and a half hours later Sabriel was wishing she'd taken up Touchstone's offer to postpone the ceremony.

Her beautifully crafted dress, elaborate golden circlet, and newly acquired title were laying in an undignified heap on a chair in the corner of the room. Her hair had long since fallen out of its coif only to be hastily tied back with a leather cord. Three women bustled around her – not including the one at the business end of the bed – passing towels, linens, herbs, bowls of water, and all manner of things back and forth between them. Touchstone sat beside her on the bed, one of his hands clasping hers, his other arm wrapped around her shoulders. His shirt and leather breeches were all that remained of the finery he had worn through the ceremony – the chain mail and crimson tabard were in the same chair as her dress. The crown had been carefully returned to its velvet-lined box.

The coronation was a blur of unfamiliar faces and muddled words now lost in the haze of ever-increasing pain. Breakfast had never happened, but it was just as well because she wasn't hungry anyways.

Another contraction came on, this one stronger than the last, just as the one before it had been stronger than its predecessor. She gave a strangled cry and gripped Touchstone's hand tighter. He squeezed her shoulder in response, but she hardly noticed.

"You need to breathe, dear," the midwife said gently, eyeing her over the rise of her knee.

_You need to find a way to speed this up!_ Sabriel's tired mind raged at the calm woman.

"Breathe, darling," Touchstone intoned.

"Be quiet!" Sabriel snapped at her husband.

The midwife chuckled, and the sound was almost soothing.

Sabriel glowered at Touchstone and the midwife (how they could have the gall to give her orders while she was in this state, she would never know), but the look was lost in the throes of another contraction.

"Won't be long now, my Lord," the midwife said to Touchstone. "You'll have your babe within the hour, I think."

And now they were talking like she wasn't even in the room! _Well, if he wants it that way, he can sleep in a different bed for the rest of our marriage!_

Sabriel was seriously considering pushing Touchstone off the bed until a sudden, intense pressure spiraled outwards from her hips and his hand became her lifeline.

"Well, it seems as if your child has grown impatient!" said the midwife, gesturing to one of her helpers for a clean warm towel. "This is it, my Lady. When I give the word, I need you to push."

"What have I been doing the past nine hours?!" Sabriel bit out between clenched jaws.

"You're doing fine, Sabriel," Touchstone answered softly, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "It's almost over."

"Like bloody hell it is!" Sabriel seethed through gritted teeth.

Then she screamed, and did as she was told: she pushed.

_Breathe deep and push. Breathe deep and push._

Her hips would certainly be ruined after this. Walking would be beyond her.

_Breathe deep and push. Breathe deep and push._

The ripping, tearing pain was most certainly ruining her muscles. What good was an Abhorsen who couldn't walk?

_Breathe deep and push. Breathe deep and push._

Everything below her waist was dying. She could feel her skin and muscle and sinew and bone peeling away into nothingness.

_Breathe deep and push. Breathe deep and push_

Suddenly she missed her father with such strength and clarity that the pain in her chest was almost as great as the pain of bringing this child into the world.

_Breathe deep and push. Breathe deep and push_

And despite everything that assailed her, she knew beyond anything else that Touchstone was going to be a wonderful father.

_Breathe deep and push. Breathe deep and push…_

* * *

The light-headed feeling that came with the sudden surcease of pain was a welcome change from the raw, red agony that had gobbled up her last conscious moments. Distantly, as if through a heavy shroud or from another room in an empty house, Sabriel heard a baby crying.

All the pieces fell into place as the midwife laid the tiny, squalling child in Sabriel's arms. In that one moment, everything was right with the world. The dead rested, the living walked, and no door was open between the two worlds. Everything stood still. The soft sunlight of the late evening danced across the bed.

"A healthy baby girl," the midwife was saying, when Sabriel was finally able to focus on anything but the tiny face beginning to relax into deep sleep. "What will her name be, then?"

Sabriel tore her eyes away from her daughter to look up at Touchstone. He was smiling brightly down at the babe, running one callused finger over her tiny nose. Either he had not heard the question or was choosing not to answer.

"Ellimere," Sabriel said softly, looking back down at the baby. Even those sad memories of the friend she had lost could not dampen the joy that filled her heart when she looked at this child. _And what better way to honor her sacrifice?_

"Ellimere," Touchstone repeated, still entranced by the infant. "A beautiful name for a beautiful baby."

The midwife clucked her tongue gently, and added, "A fine name for a princess."


	2. Ellimere and Touchstone

**Family, Chapter One - Ellimere and Touchstone, on Sabriel's Absence**

_Making the decision to have a child - it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body._

-Elizabeth Stone

* * *

"Wait for me, Ellimere," her mother had said when she'd kissed her daughter goodbye, "and mind your Father."

Ellimere hated waiting. She hated it more than anything else in the world – and when one considers all the things in a little princess' world worth hating, it is no small mystery why she hated waiting so much. She hated waiting for her birthday to come around again – she would be turning six – and she hated waiting for her father to finish his work (what it was he did, Ellimere wasn't too sure, but she knew it was both important and unpleasant, because he went around frowning all the time). She hated waiting on the proper while the hostler saddled her pony, and she hated standing in front of the big oven in the kitchen's corner waiting for the day's ginger cakes to be done. She absolutely loathed standing still on the tiny little platform in the seamstress' room waiting for her hem to be pinned, and she would rather have eaten a worm than spent another single moment standing idly by the window awaiting her mother's return. She hated that more than anything else. Her father hated it too, she knew. He hated it as much as she did. Every time Sabriel left she asked Ellimere to wait for her, and every time Ellimere hated it more and more.

Especially when her mother was late: Sabriel's return was three days overdue.

Sitting beside her window, gazing out through an overgrown lattice of Charter-spelled ivy, Ellimere clutched her doll harder against her small frame and valiantly fought back tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. The almost-full moon shone down upon the palace, clear and bright. From her window, through the creeping vines, Ellimere could see the West Yard for the paperwings, and if she leaned out a bit farther, the South Gates. There was no paperwing in sight, no small column of riders heading toward the gates.

Every single night she had kept watch just so. Her father would tuck her in and kiss her goodnight, and then when he had closed the door, she would creep from her bed and tiptoe to the window, where she would sit until morning. Nothing tonight, just as there had been nothing the night before, and nothing the night before that.

The moon made its slow, arduous journey through the skies as night wore on, and Ellimere grew tired. Her head nodded more and more, and still her mother never appeared. Her grip on the small cloth doll weakened, until she finally curled up on the window seat, and let sleep take her.

She dreamed: A man came to her father at breakfast. His red tabard made him a guard. Short hair. Course hands. He spoke haltingly, and carried a package wrapped in soft, oiled leather. Heavy. Cumbersome. Wrong. She knew what was in the package, and what wasn't. A sword that had never needed sharpening, and six bells. Only six. There were arms around her, and her father's choked voice in her ear. _She's not coming back to us_, he said. _She's not coming back…_

Ellimere awoke with a cry, tears falling down her small red cheeks as she tumbled from the window seat. With a great sob of anguish she leapt from the floor and flew from her room, through the parlor, straight past the massive wooden doors that led out to the palace, and to her parents' bedroom. The heavy door flew open, rebounding off the wall as she raced past. Her father, standing by the window to watch the West Yard, turned as the door banged open. Her little brother was asleep in the big, velvet-draped bed.

Trying to quiet her cries – not wanting to wake Sameth – Ellimere ran to her father's outstretched arms. He swept her off the floor in one smooth motion and hugged her tightly, rubbing her back as she sobbed into his chest. Her tears made a dark spot on his shirt.

"Hush, Elli. Hush darling. It's alright," Touchstone murmured softly, sitting down carefully on the bed. Sam felt the mattress dip, but all he did was mumble and roll onto his back.

After a few long, weary moments, Ellimere's sobs began to quiet. The warmth of her father's arms pushed away the infirmity in her own small limbs, and his soothing voice, murmuring words of ease and comfort, chased away all her fears and uncertainties.

When she had shed her tears, and wiped her nose on her sleeve, her father asked gently, "What's wrong, Elli? What's frightened you?"

Instead of answering his question, Ellimere asked one of her own, choking back her hiccups just long enough to gasp out, "When is Mother coming home?"

The look of sudden loss and despair on her father's face was disheartening, and nearly enough to send her back to sobbing. He hugged her tightly, harder then he had before, and answered, "I don't know."

"I wish she were here with us," Ellimere said, reaching out to wrap one of her little hands around the curls just above her father's right ear, tears once again beginning to leak.

"So do I, darling," Touchstone said softly, one again struck by how much Ellimere resembled his wife. She would be a perfect picture of Sabriel when she was grown, of that much he was sure.

"Why is she always leaving us?" Ellimere asked. "Doesn't she love us? Doesn't she get lonely?"

"Of course she loves us," Touchstone said immediately. "And I'm sure she misses us very much."

"Then _why_ does she leave us?" the young princess persisted. "I don't understand!"

Touchstone considered for a moment, not sure how to answer the question to his daughter's satisfaction.

"Whenever your mother leaves," he said finally, looking into a pair of familiar brown eyes, "she goes out to make the world a better place for you to grow up in. She loves you and Sam and I so much that she is willing to bear the pain of being away from us."

Ellimere sniffled, and wiped her nose on the back of her hand, before asking, "Is it very bad, out in the world?"

"Not so very," Touchstone answered, giving her a small, sad smile. "But it is dangerous."

"Could she die?"

The answering nod made his chest ache, but Touchstone could not find it in him to lie to Elli – not when her mother had been missing for three days.

The concept of death was not unknown to Ellimere - with the Abhorsen for a mother, how could it be? - but the feelings it brought were quite unfamiliar. The mere thought of living without her mother, or her father or brother, brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. Sniffling, she wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, and said, "I love you, Daddy." Then, reaching up, she wrapped her arms around Touchstone's neck in a tight hug.

"I love you too, darling," he said as he hugged her back.

A loud knock echoed through from the parlor, startling both father and daughter. "Your Highness?" one of the guards called from the next room.

Touchstone let out a tired sigh at the interruption. He gave Ellimere a dour scowl, half-veiled by a smile, and moved her off his lap to sit beside her brother on the bed. Then he stood, stretched briefly, and made his was through the bedroom door – which shut behind him with a _snap!_ – out into the parlor.

For a moment Ellimere was tempted to follow after her father. She looked down at Sameth, who still slumbered deeply, wrapped in his tangled nightshirt and the bed's thick blankets. Her gaze was distasteful: she was more than sure that she had never looked like that when she was three (though Sam would be four in another week). There was drool gathering at the corner of his mouth, and his nose was running. He was sucking lightly on the first two fingers of his left hand. Ellimere had often found her mother exclaiming over how adorable Sam was when he slept, but she herself simply could not see it.

Her father came back into the room then, but he did not close the door behind himself. Smiling at her, he said, "Go and get your dressing gown Elli, and we'll meet your mother in the West Yard."

A wide, beaming grin broke Ellimere's previously gloomy disposition. Dashing from the room, she ran back down the hall and into her bedroom. With quick hands and little care for what was pushed aside, she pulled the dark blue robe from her wardrobe, and ran back out into the hall. Then she sped back in, stepped into her slippers, and was off again.

She was still tugging on her dressing gown when she returned. Her father was wrapping Sam in one of his extra coats and hoisting the small boy into his arms. Sameth made no protest, looking out through bleary eyes before burying his head on his father's shoulder to fall back to sleep.

With Sam in one arm, and Ellimere's hand clutched tightly in his own, Touchstone made his way out into the palace, down a long hallway toward the flight of steps that would take them down to the West Yard. Ellimere was tugging him along as fast as her little legs could carry her.

"I'm glad we don't have to wait anymore," Ellimere commented.

After telling her not to skip down the stairs, her father said, "So am I, Ellimere. So am I."


	3. Sameth and Sabriel

**Family, Chapter Two - Sabriel, Sameth, and the Lullaby**

**Notes: **_A Lullabye of Love's Design_ was written and composed by Miria L'auroel, who was kind enough not to demand I change it when she found the story.

* * *

"_Whenever I held my newborn baby in my arms, I used to think that what I said and did to him could have an influence not only on him but on all whom he met, not only for a day or a month or a year, but for all eternity - a very challenging and exciting thought for a mother."_ Rose Kennedy

* * *

Sabriel was more tired than she could ever remember being in her life, but that was no real deviation from the norm. She was always tired these days. Whether it was Dead Hands, or Mordicants, or Free Magic constructs, or state dinners, or raising children: there was never any end to the work.

Not that Sabriel minded most of it. She could handle the Dead, and Free Magic with something bordering on ease. The dinners almost always proved enjoyable, and she rather liked raising her children - as most mothers did - and was always incredibly disheartened when she had to leave them, especially now that Ellimere was in school, and it would soon be Sam's turn. There was barely a month until the term started, and every day that Sabriel could not spend with Sam -which was most of them- made her feel as if she were abandoning her youngest child.

That thought made leaving all that much harder.

By now the paperwing was ready, and waiting in the West Yard. Touchstone had risen from bed – though dawn was only a few hours off, and he needed all the sleep he could get – to help her dress. The two mages accompanying her were ready and set, assembled outside in the hall. Her sword and bells were laying across the stool of her neglected vanity, waiting to be strapped on.

She leaned over to kiss her husband goodbye; the tiny, niggling fear that she might never see him again present in the back of her mind - just as it always was on their partings – and when she pulled away, she saw Sam. He was standing in the doorway to their room, looking very small and lost. His red cheeks and runny nose were harbingers of the tears pooling in his eyes, just beginning to fall down his flushed little face. One of his socks was missing, and he was dragging his pillow along with him. Clearly, he'd meant to spend the rest of the night with his parents.

At the sight of Sabriel preparing to leave, the young prince dropped his pillow and ran to his mother, the tears falling faster. She knelt down to meet him, drawing him into her embrace. When he latched onto her neck with a strength that belied his small frame, Sabriel simply sat down on the rug and pulled him into her lap. When she buried her face in his dark curls, it was to hide her own wet eyes.

"Don't go Mama!" Sam pleaded, his voice muffled by her dark blue surcoat. "Please don't go! Don't leave me, Mama! Please!"

Taking her son's face in her hands, she kissed him on the forehead, her chapped lips brushing across the Charter Mark there as she smoothed the hair out of his eyes. "I wish I could stay, Sam," she said quietly, ignoring the wetness on her own cheeks. "More than anything, I wish I could."

"Stay!" Sam insisted, smiling suddenly through his tears as if the solution had been found. "Stay, and you can come and sleep in _my_ bed, and we can tuck eachother in, and you can tell me stories and stay with me all night, and then we can go play outside _all_ day tomorrow!"

"It's not that easy, Sam," Sabriel said softly, unable to keep from sighing.

Sam tilted his head at her, his eyebrows drawing down until he looked just like his father in a fit, and asked, "Why not?"

Sabriel didn't want to have that conversation. Not now, when there wasn't enough time for her to help him understand.

"We'll talk about it later, little one," she answered, hugging Sam's head to her shoulder as she rose from her spot on the floor. "I promise."

" 'm not little," he protested weakly, but he let his mother hug him all the same.

Sabriel felt a gentle hand on her free shoulder, and looked up at Touchstone. Sam felt her movement, and reluctantly pulled his face away from his mother's neck, knowing instinctively that the moment he let go she would be gone. Touchstone wrapped his arms around them both in a tight hug. He planted a quick kiss on his son's forehead – over the Charter Mark, just as Sabriel had done - and a slightly longer kiss on his wife's mouth.

As they pulled apart, Sabriel laughed softly at the look of utmost disgust on Sam's face.

"You're never going to find a nice girl to marry if you keep that up," Touchstone said to Sam, his serious tone marred by the smile attempting to turn the corners of his mouth.

Sam's look of disgust became one of horror, and he shook his head vehemently, silently vowing that he would never kiss any girl the way his father kissed his mother.

"She'd out there somewhere, son," Touchstone intoned. "And when you find her you'll be more than happy to oblige."

Finally, Sam said, "Yuck!"

Touchstone laughed out loud at this, and leaned forward to plant another kiss upon his son's brow. Sam covered his eyes with his chubby little hands when his parents kissed again.

Sabriel smiled sadly at her husband as he pulled away, then looked down at her son – her darling baby boy. She took a deep, steadying breath, and quelled the fresh tears beginning to well in her eyes. She didn't want to cry in front of Sam – he picked up on other's emotions so easily, and she didn't want to upset him any more than she had to.

So she kissed his cheek, and attempted to set him down. He steadfastly refused to give up his iron hold on her neck, and had to be pried loose. When both his feet were securely on the ground, Sabriel leaned down to give her son one final kiss.

"Goodbye, my darling," she said softly. "Be good for your father while I'm gone."

Sam began to sniffle again, but nodded his head and stood on tiptoe to kiss his mother's cheek.

Then she turned away from him and reached for her sword, still lying across the vanity stool.

Sam grabbed her hand suddenly, and – with surprising strength for one so small – pulled her back to him, and down so he could whisper in her ear.

"Mama," he began, so low she strained to hear. "Before you go, will you… will you sing me to sleep? Like you did when I was little?"

_You are still so young, my dearest Sameth_, Sabriel thought. Then she smiled at him through wet eyes, and nodded.

She took her son's hand, and looked back over her shoulder to mouth, "Stall them," to her husband, while tilting her head toward the hall door, where her mages were no doubt growing impatient. Then she led Sameth out into the parlor, and back down the little hallway to his bedroom. He stooped to retrieve his pillow, letting it drag along the ground, and she snatched up the lost sock when they passed it farther down the hallway, just outside his door.

Sabriel scooped Sam up in strong arms, and let him fall gently onto the bed. He wriggled around a bit while she took the pillow from him, situating it behind his curly-haired head. She shook out the little sock, and frowned at how cold his foot was when she pulled the sock over his toes. Sam squirmed and giggled when she brushed the extremely ticklish spot with her equally cold hands, calming only when she pulled the blankets up over him and began to tuck him in.

"What will it be then?" Sabriel asked, settling beside him on the bed.

Shifting around beneath the covers, Sam said, "That one you used to sing to me and Elli…"

This was a most unclear answer, so Sabriel remained quiet and waited for the elaboration, which Sam offered up gladly.

"The one about the moon and the clouds falling through the sky, and give me your tomorrow…"

"Ah," Sabriel said as she recognized the description. "A Lullaby of Love's Design?"

"Tha'sit," Sam replied through a yawn, smiling sleepily up at his mother as she began to hum the familiar tune.

It was new by Old Kingdom standards, because it had come from Ancelstierre. Sabriel had no idea where she had learned it, but she had always adored it. The melody was lovely and simple, the words warm and heartfelt. It was the only lullaby she knew.

Sam loved his mother's voice. It was the most soothing thing in his world, second only to the memory of her heartbeat when she held him close. She didn't sing very often. Sam knew her voice was something special, meant just for him and for Elli, and he held that knowledge dearer than any toy or plaything.

_"When the twilight's over, there's magic in the night sky,  
And moonlight dusts with silver the clouds that skim on high;  
I love to be beside you, when stars begin to gather,  
And then begin to play their lullaby."_

Sam's eyelids began to droop just as soon as the song was begun. The old, familiar feeling of his mother's weight at his bedside helped to ease the pain of her impending departure, which still sat heavy on his chest. He voice coaxed all the fear and tension out of him, until he could almost feel himself falling asleep.

Sabriel sang on:

_"A lovely twinkling message is in the stars that shine:  
"Give me your tomorrows, and I will give you mine."  
The stars all nod their heads, and the moon has closed his eyes,  
To a lullaby of love's design._

_"Moon and stars and clouds all tumble through the night,  
And as we sleep beneath them, they fill the sky with light.  
The clouds glide on the wind, and the moon and twinkling stars  
Play hide and seek in mounds of fluffy white."_

Lured down the hall by the welcome, but unfamiliar sound of his wife's singing voice, Touchstone stood silently outside Sam's door, sharing the goodbye between mother and son. Sabriel didn't sing for anyone but her children, though her voice was gentle and soothing.

_"Dreams are on the nightwind, and dreams are in my heart,  
And when one dream has ended, another dream will start.  
You are my moon and stars, and my greatest dream is always  
That we'll never, ever have to be apart"_

Sam was sound asleep now, but Sabriel continued with the last verse all the same.

_"A lovely twinkling message is in the stars that shine:  
"Give me your tomorrows, and I will give you mine."  
The stars all nod their heads, and the moon has closed his eyes,  
To a lullaby of love's design."_

Leaning over her son, Sabriel laid a final kiss against his cheek: a kiss filled with wishes for peace and sweet dreams, and with all the love of a mother whose heart is breaking because she cannot watch over that which is most precious to her.

Then she rose from Sam's bed and made her way to the door. When she had closed it with a gentle _click_, she turned to face Touchstone, who gathered her into his arms without a word. He pulled her head against his shoulder, and stroked her hair until her silent tears had passed and her trembling shoulders had stilled.

"You give him your best, and that's all you can give," he said softly. "Sam will understand when he's older."

Sabriel nodded, and let Touchstone guide her back down the hall. Together they belted the sword around her waist, and settled the bandolier of bells across her chest.

"Take care of my baby boy," Sabriel said to Touchstone as she kissed him goodbye one last time.

"Aye," Touchstone answered. "And you take care of yourself. Come back to us."

Sabriel gave a stoic nod, then she stepped out into the palace and was gone.

* * *


End file.
